


Part by Part

by meiyamie



Category: Cardcaptor Sakura
Genre: Character Study, Drama, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-03
Updated: 2018-01-03
Packaged: 2019-02-27 19:48:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13255383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meiyamie/pseuds/meiyamie
Summary: Character sketch: Eriol on Tomoyo, and the cost of loving a human.





	Part by Part

**Author's Note:**

> -Card Captor Sakura is so not mine, no profit was earned from the making of this fanfic.  
> -Title is from 'Putting it Together' from the musical, 'Sunday at the Park with George'.  
> -I should move on to other newer fandoms, but that time is not now. Thank you for taking this nostalgic trip with me.  
> -If ye like it, show it with kudos and/or comments? Or drop me a line: psychoshoujo@gmail.com.

_A bit of rain, a giggle, and a cup of soul-spirit._

_A swish, a bit of glass, and some moonlight._

Just some of the things that make magic. It takes an appreciation for the finer things in life, seeing things by their atomic parts and reworking them to make something beautiful.

Ruby Moon was made of moonlight, rubies, soda, laughter, and lipstick.

Spinel Sun was made of a wire, cat hair, and high noon sun. The parts are easier than the craft.

I loved many women, sometimes men, over the years, and I was always drawn to how they made poetry out of the inanimate even if they had no powers.

Kaho was the only one I had who saw the moon for more than what it is, and that was without ever setting foot on it. And like the moon she loved fully and wildly. Every step felt like having a spotlight on the two of us – the moon and the wizard, the Clow.

But Kaho realized that she was human. She could play with the element she worships for as long as she’d like, but she will always be of this earth. We could be together, but never at peace. That took too much out of her, and she left.

I couldn’t mourn. I knew she would leave. I have had my own heart stitched up for centuries over.

Then I met Tomoyo.

She might as well have been formed from a mother of pearl, ribbons, song, some lace, and a smile. Was I the only who knew when she was feeling blue beneath that smile of hers?

Again, details.

And of all the people I’ve been with over the years, she’s the only one that got it so far. You can see it in how she carefully crafts outfits by hand for the girl she loves, and how she carefully listens for her note in a song.

She tastes kisses. The tip of her tongue touches the other to taste first, then retreats, then returns for a fuller and wetter kiss.

She likes using her fingers, running them through my hair, tracing every part of my body to the ones that make me gasp and cry for her.

Details. How she changes from the scent of sun-kissed oranges on summer days to lilac in the winter. She memorizes the flowers in my garden at the manor, and knows how to make even the shyest blooms stand proud when paired with the right buds. She sees me cast a sticky spell, and suggests a brush of honey for a little more stick and a glow. She wasn’t a wizard herself, but she was right.

I see a little better when I’m around her. She stayed with me when I asked, and I was ever grateful.

But she’s human.

And as years pass, streaks of white appear in her hair. Her back slowly hunches, then her hair silvers.

I make myself older for her. I make myself bald. I give myself enough of a hunch just to meet her height. Just for her, just so she feels less lonely. So she wouldn’t feel like she’ll lose me. She never will, I tell her.

She smiles, but I can see that she’s sad again. She thinks I’m lying for her sake. I don’t fight her. Time passes too quickly for that kind of insistence.

She can no longer arrange flowers like she used to, nor can she sew or draw as fast. She hears music, but she forgets the words to songs.

She slows down, and I keep my pace with hers.

She focuses on fewer details instead: my hand in hers, kisses, the warmth of my body next to her as she sleeps. We sleep earlier now, right after supper. We wake up at dawn for walks around the block.

Then one day she didn’t wake up.

And for a long while, I couldn’t bring myself to cast spells.

I wanted to be human too.

Then her ghost appears to me, in the form where I fell in love with her – when she was in university – and she laughs. _“No, my dearest, no you don’t.”_ She says, _“Stay so you can continue to create. So you can love like the first time you fell. That’s your gift, Eriol, that you can have the best of life all over again.”_

And I almost believe her.

But it takes a love like hers to have me regard my own existence as a curse.

I eventually return to spell-making and spell-casting. Sadly, no spell can summon her at will. She just appears when she feels like it. She is the first human my heart continues to ache for.

It’s from the details you see. The silkiest hair my own fingers ever threaded through, the way she knows just how to change a song when she colors and punches the right words to it. How she knows from scent when a soup’s about to burn. How it’s going to be ok when she wraps her arms around me and nuzzles her face into the skin of my neck.

It’s from the details that I miss her the most.

**Author's Note:**

> -That bit about working the gardens came from Ciircee's 'Kitaku' fanfic. Ohai, that was published 16 years ago. Yikes, I am old. @_@


End file.
